


Blame it on the Alcohol, Artie

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:37:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Blame it on the Alcohol, Artie

He had had too much to drink. That was the only reason he was pinned up against the wall of some fucking random hotel room, allowing some damn random ass American to grope him, and tug at his pants—and if he didn’t hurry up and touch him… He was going to kill the man.

“You’re so damn sexy,” and the bloke had a southern accent.

He hated the American accent, but of all of them he was pretty sure he hated— He stopped breathing for a moment as the blue eyed blond (the American dream boy) ran a hand up his spine, lifting up his shirt, tugging over his head, trapping his arms and covering his face. And he couldn’t see, but that was part of the excitement as the American (what was his fucking name again, what was it?) moved his tongue lightly over one of his nipples. And tugged on the ring there.

He had been in a bit of a rebellious stage when he had gotten it, and fucking now, as the bloody git was paying so much attention to it and sending just the right amount of—pressure, and pleasure through his body. He managed to lift his foot up and rub it against the bulge in the younger man’s tousers, and he moaned and pulled away, tugging at the ring. With the added weight off his chest, he finished taking off his black teeshirt. He had pulled on the American’s tie (why was he in a suit anyway?) and tugged him further into the room.

“Whoa there, Artie.”

“Don’t call me that, idiot.” He murmured. So the blond knew his name…but…he shrugged as he roughly pushed the suit-clad man onto the bed. Sloppy kisses interrupted his efforts to take off the bloody suit and strip the other man bare. He could swear he felt a slight touch of metal as he continued to kiss the other man inbetween falling on the bed and ending up underneath him.

“Fuckin—.”

“Which we would be doing already if you’d get undressed!” The American pushed off of him and slide off the jacket and unhooked the tie.

The English man, instead of bothering with those silly things called ‘buttons’ started tearing the shirt from the top.

“Fuck, what are you doin?” But the American’s complaints didn’t last for long as the brition started licking and nipping at his collarbone, while hands lightly trailed down his sides and untucked the dress shirt from the slacks.

He fiddled with the belt as—

“What is your fuckin’ name anyway?”

“Al, Alfred. Third time you’ve asked me babe.”

“Third time’s the charm. I’ll remember now.” And he was successful, the belt was gone, and the pants were on the floor. Now he was the one overdressed.

“I’ll make you cry my name, so you won’t forget me.”

“You’re sounding like an idiot now, Alfred.” Lips were meeting again, and he knew, just knew it was a tongue ring he was feeling against teeth. He lightly sucked on it, and Alfred’s hands which had been pushing trying to get his pants down, which was hard when he was this damn hard, denim did not want to move past that. His hands stopped and he moaned and he was reaching up to pull at Artie’s spikey blond hair, tugging at the locks. Arthur bit on his bottom lips before kissing along his jaw bone, moving downward on his chest. They were grinding against each other, silk against denim, and Al moaned before leaning back and just basically ripping the pants off of the older man.

“…you’re not wearing underwear…” he sounded awed, as he lightly ran a hand up and down the other man’s shaft.

“Hnnng…” he managed out, hips bucking up and down, back arching off of the bed. Alfred placed a single hand on his hip, holding him in place as he lowered his mouth downward and… Arthur started swearing a meshmatch of welsh, celtic and a small smattering of French.

Alfred ran the tip of his tongue around the weeping slit, one hand lightly massaging his ball sac as his tongue ring lightly ran up and around the man. He hollowed out his cheeks and took him further and deeper, cock touching the back of his throat. Artie offered him encouraging tugs on his hair, as he was pushed closer and closer to the edge. Alfred laughed around him as he slowly released him, hands gripping him tightly to ensure he wouldn’t come. Pressed to the brink and then roughly, harshly denied relief, Arthur blinked back tears.

“Tha’ fuck?”

“Need to be inside yah…” Alfred grunted as he leaned back and started pulling off his pants along with his boxers. Arthur blinked as he took in the size of him.

“Bloody hell, lube, right back pocket, condom my wallet.” Al retrieved said items and threw them on the bed. He started to stretch and prepare the smaller man, muttering in his ear all the while. Arthur just kept drawing his lips back to his, in a mutter of displease.

“Just stop talking and fuck me.”

So, with that said, Alfred drew back and lined himself up, before slowly sliding inside. And he was still going to slow for Arthur’s taste, treating him like he was a doll or something.

“I’m not going to break. So fuck me.” Those blue eyes darkened and then he was being slammed into the bed forcibly.

“Fine,” Al said, “Fine.” And words stopped being necessary, they were never necessary. He was hitting all the right spots, and touching him in all the right ways—and soon that pleasurable heat started building again, and Al was moaning in his ear— “Close, so close.” In an unending pattern.

And for a moment as he came all over Alfred’s hand and looked up at those blue eyes as he shuddered above him. He imagined himself to be in love. But—that was just the alcohol speaking.


End file.
